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He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. Teddy was the hatless young man who had turned Ann Veronica aside from the Avenue two days before. White, my landlady, believes his story. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them.
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